|
FGE Cypher Pt. 2 Lyrics - Artist : Montana Of 300
[Talley of 300:]
Yeah, TO3 Yeah Body after body all I know is murder, I'm from the darkside If I have to draw, serve like volleyball, and drop it on y'all side That's why I try hard to not get involved, and stay under God's lie When I promise tomorrow just saw at their face, and pray for the lost eyes Nigga's playing games with this shit Why I'm hopin brains will get hit I target minds, I ain't talkin' shells But I really aim in this spit What's your direction, nigga? Do you know where you heading, nigga? Hope it's to the cheddar, nigga Then the heaven nigga, or whatever But can't be around me if you don't want better, nigga Yeah I know I'm ahead of nigga's And I don't embellish, nigga I try not to embarrass nigga's But sometimes I can't help it, it's not in my character It's just God's will that he carry with him And you know that my berry with them Case the hate get too real, it's okay, get buried with them I will not Tom and Jerry with them Cherry pick em, and drop every top that get hairy with him I should thank God I ain't kickin' in doors no more Emptying poles no more 50's on the road doe hoe It ain't nothing to blow your show But I'm in it to go get the cash Give and get the love tryin' to reach the fans Motivate they plans Give em what I can Give em to the man Hopin' they advance Cause with no delay I'm gone I'm grown, I'm glowin' If it's war bitch, then I'm blowin' No rims nigga, I'm scorin' My wings up bitch, I'm soarin' FGE poppin', that's corn And they knowing We got it fucking going on, that's porn, nigga [$avage:] FGE shit Mob shit, man Mob! It's $avage! I'm the nigga with the wings And I lift em up, middle fingers up To the PPD, 309 pistol county where I'm from Sip a lotta lean Roll a lotta gas, do a lotta drugs If I want ya boys bands, I hit him up It'll be 2k, that'll split him up Call my nigga Real I'm a get the back, you go get the front Bandannas like Montana's over my face when I hit em up Roll on em like Alabama Once I up seven better give it up Like a 6-4 Drop his top then put em in the trunk Better get low Fore the fifth blow Blowin big dro 36 O's Shout out big moe That my big bro Momma told me how these nigga's switch though Keep a big a pole With extendos Like a joystick On Nintendos Like I'm workin in the drive through Give it to em right through the window Chopper spray Bodies drop Niggas ride away Where I'm from its the slums, nigga Get theyself fucked up a lotta ways I ain't saying that you gotta pray But I seen it coming like a mile away I'm just saying what I got to say Prolly not today But every motherfucker got a day [J-Real:] Yeah, y'all know how I'm rockin, bitch J-Real, uh, 15 Picture me rollin like 2Pac Out the window blowin two Glocks Pullin up like tube socks With more ratchets than a toolbox Ain't a rapper, bitch I'm a shooter Your bitch, she gonna suck like a loser Slug me up like looter's Then it's back gettin that mulah, yeah Tip toe to that cash Till that front door Then it's kick door While I grip pole for that cash Hell no I don't need no mask Nigga's hoes, they already know They don't want me up foldin em on that ass In that 4-door with the 4-0 Hop out blowin' at they ass Acting like I never had shit Cause I never, ever, had shit And after every show I got a bad bitch Touching on me like a tablet Yeah, that bitch she on me She just prolly wanna meet Tony But you know the rules Gotta meet broski Then broski and broski Yeah [No Fatigue:] You know you gotta do broski 'nem It's No Fatigue Y'all can remember this, too Blowin' powerpuff with these bitches nice Sugar with the spice I'm a get em right Coming from the bottom like some fucking ice See the green clear like a fuckin' Sprite When I hit the booth it don't be nothin' nice And bitches want the D, I got a couple hypes They gonna let me hit like a bunch of likes When she throw it back like a bunch of hikes Tell bud he better be wiser before he get hit in his six pack Right up the can, yeah, sip that That'll make a pussy nigga sit back He can get the forty like he bet a dub He can get the forty like he bet on one I bet I be hotter if he bet the sun Had to branch off from the separate ones See that boy ridin' like a street sign? We gon' give that pussy boy a peace sign All these bitches want me like iPhones Tell her slide on me, I need iHome In your ho's-tel, no room b Still slidin', no room key Your bitch suck like they boo-ing Nigga's mad at me like oooo-weee Young boy cool like the 3-Cs Met a pretty girl with the 3-Bs Spray in his house like fa-breeze Mask on, nigga can't see me I don't rock with niggas cause they offbeat I be talkin' money, nigga's talk cheap I be in her mouth like false teeth Then I'm in between like flossing Roll up smoking with these Bs I hit that bitch in the eve She shake it like tambourine I just had to hit and run Hope she don't say please when I leave I ball, I pull up like a sleeve Her pussy pink like that lean Touchin' my chest cause I'm king She wanna search just like Bing Now that bitch got what she need Ballin', but not in the league 'Tigue [Montana of 300:] Rap God, FGE shit You already know how we comin', man Bases loaded in this bitch Uhuuuhh Fire in the church There's liars in the church Scratch the surface, find a diamond in the dirt You gotta grind until it hurts I am triumphed and diversed Flow rare, unfair, might start a riot with this verse I will father like Mufasa 'til I'm lyin' in the hearse Drive your lioners berzerk I see clients in my merch Ok, I'm breaded bitch You know I'm breaded like mozzarella sticks Godly, how is he heaven sent but so devilish? The coldest flow, colder than any Eskimos ever been Was sellin' shit I served for 8 years, I felt like the president Been nailin' shit You'll get off tonight like you workin' second shift Wings up, all praise to the merciful and beneficent I second guess the message The truth ain't never pleasant The future's present hip-hop's alive and resurrected Play with me and I'm airin' opps It get's uglier than Carrot Top Leave her pussy bloody like it's cherry popped Six feet deep, three pair of socks Put em in the ground, that's deep rooted We keep winnin', y'all keep losin' We don't twitter beef, bitch we shootin' All kinda clips, come preview it This clip in my ak got 50 in it, that's G-Unit Got another clip with a hundred rounds That got mo' in it, that's 3 Stooges Plus 30 in my Dez Eagle Turn em into red people Whack em while their jewelry on Nigga, icy dead people Glock sing when the mops ring Lay em down first like a box spring Had to sauce on em like some hot wings We be goin in like a swat team Squah! |
Other Lyrics
|
Copyright © 2009-2024 |